


Moving down the line

by enid_salt



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Falcon and the Winter Soldier
Genre: F/M, Non-graphic depictions of violence, Post-The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, Probably not canon compliant tho, Spoiler Alert - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-19 10:35:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29998065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enid_salt/pseuds/enid_salt
Summary: James Buchanan Barnes is celebrating his birthday. He's 106. Ish.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Sharon Carter & Sam Wilson, James "Bucky" Barnes/Sharon Carter
Comments: 16
Kudos: 41





	1. Day

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so the spoiler alert: there's a rumor that there might be a romance type relationship for Sharon and Bucky in the series. I'm still working on how I feel about that and this is part of that journey. 
> 
> Also, I do go with the idea of Sam accepting the shield and title by the end of the series. So, yeah.

James Buchanan Barnes, also known as Bucky, is celebrating his birthday. 

He’s 106. Or 101 depending on how you look at it. Or, counting only the years he’s been around and not shut away or “blipped”, he’s 34. 

It’s a little hard to keep track. 

Anyway you slice it, he’s a grown ass man who’s a little old to be throwing himself a pity party just because he’s the only one who remembers it is his birthday. 

“This seat taken?” 

It’s a stool - more like a glorified padded tray on three wobbly legs - in a rundown biker bar on the edge of town. Not exactly the kind of joint where reserved seats are respected. 

But that’s not why she’s asking. 

He nods. 

Sharon Carter slides onto the stool and motions for a drink. 

Bucky puts out his empty glass for a refill when the bartender comes to put a bottle down in front of Sharon. 

They don’t clink glasses but there’s a mutual tip toward each other before they sip at their respective drinks. 

“Celebrating a special occasion?” she asks. 

Bucky grits his teeth and swallows the alcohol instead of letting it burn like he had before. 

“Yeah.” 

There’s more silence, a little bit terse, while she stares him down. 

“Okay,” she relents, “good for you then.” 

The thing between them is barely anything and she had been someone to Steve before, not to mention her legacy she’s inherited from her aunt and - Bucky cuts himself off because he knows if he mentions a word of any of that out loud, she will pour her drink over his head and smash the glass into his scalp for good measure. She’s a crack shot. It’s one of the best things about her. 

They drink more and Bucky forces himself to relax a little bit so that the quiet between feels less rude. 

Sharon signals for another round when they’re ready for it. 

“I’m paying the tab, when you’re ready,” she mentions when he’s got the glass to his lips.

“I’m good,” is his reply. 

She sets her drink down, “You’re not paying for your own booze on your birthday.” 

Bucky nearly drops his drink, his grip - human, doesn’t want to accidentally break anything - tightening around it to compensate. 

“You know?” 

Sharon snorts and finishes her glass in one swig.

“Yeah.” 

He looks at her, meets her eyes even, and she looks back. There’s no pity or guilt to her eyes. Instead, there’s a steely glint to them that sends his pulse racing. 

This is the time to say something - anything. 

A fuck nut on the opposite side of the room starts bloviating instead, “I’m just saying - I didn’t ask to be snapped out of existence. And I damn sure didn’t ask to be brought back into a world I don’t even know. Fucking Avengers didn’t fix shit. They ruined it. Twice.” 

They both turn to look, along with three quarters of the bar. 

His companions try to keep him down, possibly arguing the other side, but he just gets louder and ornerier. 

“No. No. They act all high and mighty like none of us would be anywhere without them. Like they’re the ones who made this “ultimate sacrifice” out their own benevolent hearts. What’d they lose? A couple of war-mongering shitheads and some pile of metal with a time bomb for a battery.” 

Bucky sets the glass down and Sharon turns her body around to glare the guy’s way. 

“And don’t get me started on that Captain guy - first he’s some righteous asshole who dips out of nowhere and then they just hand it off to the first grunt to get his hands on the shield. No heroes any one of them.”

That’s the tipping point. Bucky is up and stalking over before the stool hits the ground. 

The asshole has just enough sense to try and land the first hit. Bucky is honed and trained enough to dodge and land his own fist in the guy’s face. The friends stand up and join in the fray, turning it from brawl to pandemonium. 

Sharon’s there too, right by his side, keeping the sneak shits trying to fight dirty at bay. 

As more patrons start to fall into one of two sides, things turn from a straightforward tussle into something cathartic and impossibly dumb. 

‘Happy birthday to me,’ Bucky thinks. 

He almost says something to Sharon. They meet eyes for a second and he freezes. All that comes to mind is ‘would it be weird to tell her she’s got a great left hook’ and ‘no, the cool double kick to the face thing is definitely the best thing about her’. Then some asswipe tries to break a bottle on his Vibranium arm and the moment passes.

In the end, they’re two of maybe four left standing, none of the douchebags who started shit included. 

Then the sirens ring out. 

Bucky and Sharon walk out first, hands raised as a sign of compliance. They’ve been through this rodeo before. 

When Sam touches down first, full Captain America outfit with the newest wings, Bucky has enough shame to wince and mumble a half hearted “sorry”. 

They put through the full rigamarole - detained and sat on the curb with their hands behind their back in the zip cuffs. 

Sam paces in front of them, “No casualties. Several possible concussions and just, like, so many witnesses. Tell me they were a threat. HYDRA, AIM, even regular old anti-vaxxers, I’ll take.” 

Bucky looks up, squinting the late afternoon sun, “What if I said they were really really shitty - at their very core as people?” 

Sam sighs, “Carter?” 

Sharon shrugs, “What can I say, I’m a woman of few pleasures - bar fights, shit liquor, and not using my words to resolve personal disagreements.” 

Sam looks up at the sky, possibly ruminating on the idea of just taking off right now and leaving the two of them to clean up their own mess. 

“I will go inside and handle this. You’ll be let go soon enough.” 

They both nod and murmur their thanks. 

“And Barnes,” Bucky looks up at Sam, “happy fucking birthday, you absolute asshole.” 

True to his word, the pair of them are let go and no charges are being filed - either way. Such are the personal sacrifices made for the greater good, Bucky supposes. 

“I’m going straight home, I swear,” he tells Sam once he’s up and free. 

Sharon steps right next to him, “Yeah, I’ll make sure he gets there safely.” 

There’s no subtlety to it but judging by the glean to her eyes and her smirk, there wasn’t meant to be. 

Sam raises an eyebrow and then rolls his eyes, “Yeah sure.” 

Before he turns around, he leans in and stage whispers, “Everyone knows. It’s literally top gossip around the water cooler.”

Sharon laughs and shoves at Sam’s shoulder. Bucky somehow envies Sam - not for the Captain thing, he’s sure of himself enough to know he’d be all wrong for it - but his ease around people. All people. The right people. 

The walk to his place - not as far as one might expect, given he could be back home in Brooklyn if he weren’t so worried about living stuck in the past - is quiet. Less like the bar and more like the other times before. 

Sharon doesn’t get too close but she stays less than a step and a half behind, her hands tucked in the pockets of the trench coat she’s got on. 

Bucky holds open the building’s door and lets her on the shitty, slow elevator first because he’s nothing if not the gentleman his ma raised 90 something years ago. 

At his door, they stop on his doorstep. 

“When did you find out?” 

Sharon deflects, “Does it matter?” 

Bucky nods. 

“I didn’t read it in your file - or in a history book.” 

That’s for the best, too much of what Bucky remembered first felt fake - reading it off some display in a museum and searching in archives wherever he could find them. If it were just some trivia point on a bottlecap or something, he’d be a little wary. 

“I saw it on the box where they kept your dogtags. First time you let me see them.” 

The museum had special storage for those types of things, he learned. A box with “James Buchanan Barnes 3/10/1917 - 2/1/1945 Howling Commando” scrawled in some archivist’s neat print. 

It was weird asking for them back but it’s been grounding to have something defining like a piece of metal with what was once his vital information stamped clear as day on him at any moment. He usually tucks them in his shirt unless he’s checking them or putting them in that box to sleep or shower. It’s an ordinary cardboard box with fading black marker writing on the lid but Bucky holds it special every time like someone’s gonna swoop in and snatch it away. 

She’s leaning on the wall on the side of the door, checking him out. Not in the way she usually does, like he’s something to be assessed, but the way that compelled him to let her see his tags ritual the first time. And all the times after that. 

He digs out his keys and unlocks the door. 

“You wanna come in?” 

She pushes herself off from the wall, “Thought you’d never ask.”


	2. Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day turns to night. A Thing turns into Something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Adding more to the story! Rating change per sexual content.

Bucky thought letting Sharon in would be the hard part. 

It wasn’t. It was easy. 

Once they’re inside and the front door is closed behind them, the anticipatory buzz settles into something a bit more muted. 

He takes her coat and hangs it up along with his jacket. They each kick off their boots, shuffling them to the side out of the way. 

Standing in front of each other in socked feet, it’s not nerves that have him fidgeting in place and more the restlessness adrenaline energy from the bar fight finally dissipating. 

It’s a good sign. He doesn’t want to come across as opportunistic.

Because if he’s being honest, it would be even easier to lead Sharon straight to the bedroom and spend the rest of his birthday not thinking or talking. 

“You hungry?” 

Sharon nods, “I could eat.” 

They go to the kitchen, Sharon sits at the breakfast bar of the island and Bucky rifles through his fridge. 

He’s used to making meals for one - there’s a lot more to go around now compared to the Depression, obviously, but that was no excuse to buy things that would just go to waste. 

But there’s more expectation than the usual morning-after-the-night-before of sticking around for a cup of coffee, so he figures he has to do something more than microwave a tupperware container. 

Bucky does have some things that could be thrown together though - extra rice, steamed veggies, grilled chicken. 

He confirms with her before he gets started, “Stir fry rice?” 

Sharon nods and gets up to help out; she gets some oil and seasonings out of a cabinet. 

That’s been his list he’s working through: flavors he never got to experience or weren’t in high supply when he was a civilian. He likes the tang of vinegars, he’s learned. 

Sharon is the one picking and choosing what to hand over but Bucky’s constantly sniffing and adjusting the heat. 

Overall, it looks pretty tasty. Bucky insists on plating the meal properly and they eat side by side at the breakfast bar. 

After munching straight through half her serving, Sharon dabs at her mouth with a napkin, “You cook well. That new?” 

Bucky shrugs, “I was the oldest of four. The options were cooking, cleaning, or earning money. Did more of the first two before I was ever qualified to try the third.” 

Sharon picks out the baby corn and eats it first, he notes.

“The best thing I make is . . . pasta. Any dish with pasta and sauce, I can do.” 

Bucky hums and puts his hand to his chest, “Big mistake, Carter.” 

She raises an eyebrow.

“I’m a pasta fiend. You’re on the hook for at least 3 pasta meals.” 

Sharon laughs, letting the force of it shake her shoulders, bumping up against Bucky. 

“I’ll bring over a lasagna - with candles, since we didn’t do a cake tonight.” 

Bucky shakes his head, “Don’t worry - I haven’t had a cake with candles since before the war.” 

Sharon bumps shoulders with him again, “Doesn’t make it okay. And if I’m making the dish, I decide it’s presentation.” 

The urge to protest further dies on his lips when their eyes meet. It’s an opportunity - to say what he truly feels instead of what he expects might be required of him. 

He accepts, “Yeah. I’d like that.” 

Bucky gathers their plates when they finish. Sharon helps him give them a quick rinse and wipe and they set them in the rack to dry. 

There aren’t leftovers to put away. Nothing left to stall the night’s inevitable conclusion. 

Sharon takes his flesh and blood hand in hers and walks them back through the apartment, down the hall she knows best. 

His bedroom door is closed - it almost always is - so they pause outside and Sharon waits for Bucky to open it. 

He steps forward and opens the door, lets her pass, and then closes and locks the bedroom door behind them. 

That’s the thing - old habits and muscle memory; they die hard. 

But it’s not all bad because it means when Sharon pulls him closer, his body remembers exactly how to lean in and wrap around her. 

Kissing Sharon is honestly a great experience of the 21st century. Definitely in his top 5. 

He does remember before the war. The people he saw “socially” then. He doesn't compare them, exactly, but maybe it's just the way he's wired now certain things just feel More. Whether it’s in intensity or some other context is a little hard to parse out. 

She hums against his mouth - he likes the sound and how the vibration feels against him. 

His hands settle on her hips. She's pressed flush against him, he can't physically pull her any closer despite all attempts to. 

Her hands trace his shoulders and lace together around the nape of his neck. 

They make a solid wall of person; blended together. 

Sharon pulls back a little bit and he whines - it makes her laugh. 

She leaves little kisses on his underjaw as she unbuttons his shirt with both hands. 

Bucky noticed that she likes doing that - and found himself wearing more button-ups if he knew they were going to meet up. 

His hands slowly edge under her top, thumbs brushing her bare skin to feel the goosebumps as they ripple across her newly bared flesh. 

His shirt comes off, then hers. They steer to the bed, her sitting to pull off her pants and socks while Bucky makes a scene of pulling off his while hopping around. 

Free of the cumbersome clothes, he crawls onto the bed, moving on top as she lays back into the pillows. 

He returns the teasing from her earlier with some of his own: he presses his lips to her cheek, the shell of her ear, the thundering pulse where it pounds on her neck. 

Her laughter gets a little more breathless while her hands skim along his back until they grip at his hips right above where they sit between her open thighs. 

He finishes his nuzzling of her neck to touch his forehead to hers and lock eyes, the silent question being asked in the shared look. 

Sharon nods. Bucky reaches into the bedside table drawer. 

He pulls out a condom. She rolls it onto him. He guides himself inside her while she rubs her clit with her fingers. 

After a pause with a languid open mouth kiss, he begins to move. 

He sets an unrelenting pace with his thrusts and she bucks her own hips up to meet them. 

He crashes his mouth to hers and they exchange moans. Bucky shifts slightly, changing the angle, and Sharon cries out in the hot, heavy air. 

His hips stutter, a close call, but doesn’t stop. 

Keyed up, Sharon squeezes her thighs around him and rolls them over so Bucky’s on his back and she’s taking the lead. 

Looking up at her riding him, Bucky focuses on counting the freckles under her flush to keep from coming too soon. 

Her hands have landed on his chest to help her balance, as she gets closer to finishing, her nails start to dig into his flesh. It sets off Bucky to thrust his hips up to meet her rhythm. 

Their climax comes fast; Sharon’s shuddering orgasm wrenching the same from Bucky. 

She falls forward onto his chest, catching her breath, before sliding off and to the side. 

“Damn,” he gasps. 

She exhales, “Yeah, thanks, you too.” 

Sharon’s on her side, facing him, so Bucky shifts to almost mirror her. 

“Not to ruin the moment,” he starts. 

She pulls the tossed aside bedsheet up to cover them, “This feels like a not-naked conversation.” 

Bucky nods, “Yeah. I don’t want to sound like a desperate booty call looking for a deeper meaning in the hookups but . . .” 

Sharon shifts closer, “But?” 

“What are we?” 

She laughs, low and brief, not in a way that’s making fun of him, “Depends. What do you want to call it?” 

Bucky leans back, thinking, “Well, boyfriend and girlfriend comes off a bit childish.” 

“Sure, sure.” 

He continues, “Lovers seems . . . impractical for everyday use.” 

“Hm, agreed on that.” 

He scrunches his nose in distaste, “Partners sounds like I’m dating Sam.” 

Sharon giggles, “Never thought about it?” 

“Yeah okay but I’m not dating Sam. I don’t want those lines crossed.” 

Sharon raises her eyebrows, “Someday we’re coming back to that “yeah” but for now, let’s go with something a little more classic - how about you’re my guy and I’m your gal?” 

Bucky smiles, “Yes. That’s great.” 

They share one more kiss and settle in for bed. 

Their sleeping positions aren’t what would be expected: Sharon sleeps on the right side, on her right side; Bucky is the big spoon behind her, Vibranium arm wrapped around her. 

It took him so long to work out why it always felt much more intimate than the sex. She trusts him to have her back without seeing him and trusts the arm to be more than a weapon or tool, as it’s just another part of him. 

Bucky thought letting Sharon in would be the hard part. 

It wasn’t. It was easy.


	3. Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after the night before

The morning sun peeked through the gaps in the blinds to stretch across the backs of the pair in bed like a gentle call to wake and start the day. 

Bucky stirs first, he rolls away from Sharon onto his back. The sudden loss of contact wakes her and she gets up as he drifts in and out of a light slumber. 

“Hey,” he hears her softly talking, “you want breakfast?” 

He opens his eyes to see her dressed in his discarded button-up. 

He nods and starts stretching his limbs, “Yeah, just gimme a sec.” 

As Sharon walks away toward the kitchen, Bucky gets out of bed and rifles in a pile of clean laundry for some sweats to wear. 

She's started the coffee pot and staring into the fridge as he walks in. 

He wraps around her from behind, chin on her shoulder to join in looking at the contents of the fridge. 

"I can do eggs. Toast. Maybe even eggs-in-a-basket if you're okay with them lookin' a little funny."

His accent always gets a bit heavier in the morning, although it doesn’t seem a priority to hide it this particular morning.

Sharon leans into the embrace, her head slightly lolling back onto Bucky’s shoulder. 

“Actually, there’s one good breakfast thing I can make - do you have flour?” 

He gathers ingredients as she lists them and lines them up on the island counter next to the mixing bowl. 

“I usually do this with pre-made mix but I did learn using the from scratch recipe,” she explains as she starts mixing things together, “and the last ingredient I need is bananas. If you have them.” 

Bucky turns around 360 degrees before spotting where they had moved his fruit bowl earlier. The bananas are just shy of over ripe but not yet at a mushy stage. 

“These okay?” he asks as he sets them down.

“Uh huh,” she nods. 

She peels them and uses a spoon to slice them into the mix. 

“The key is not to overmix, we’re folding them in,” she looks up, “like cheese.” 

Bucky narrows his eyes, “Is this your way of checking if I actually started that show you recommended?” 

Sharon grins, “Yes.” 

Bucky hums and leans over the counter to kiss her. 

“I trust your culinary skills over Moira Rose’s.” 

Sharon laughs and continues the light stir to incorporate the banana, “The highest compliment I’ve received lately.” 

Bucky gets out the small square griddle pan he uses for steak or pork chops and sets it up on the stove burner. 

Sharon moves the bowl over and grabs a ladle and spatula. 

When she hasn’t started and keeps staring him down, Bucky shrugs. 

“I have things handled from here, you can go and wait for your serving.” 

She shoos him away with the ladle and he backs away slowly. 

He ends up on the couch, turning on the TV and channel surfing. 

A Lord of the Rings marathon is starting on a movie channel - he tunes in and reminds himself that the extended versions of the movie don’t actually count towards his self-imposed goal of reading the series and the Silmarillion. 

But it’s also the day after his birthday and he’s allowed certain indulgences. 

Sharon brings over two plates and doubles back to grab syrup and butter. Bucky grabs a mug of coffee for each of them.

There is another eating space besides the breakfast bar but the coffee table is clear save for the entertainment system’s remote so eating in front of the TV isn’t a hardship.

Bucky reaches for his plate, “Smiley face?” 

He holds up the dish with the three shaped pancakes on it. 

Sharon smiles, “Yes. Only the best for yesterday’s birthday boy.” 

They eat and watch the movie, sharing commentary and opinions. 

When they finish, they leave the plates on the coffee table and shift to sit a bit closer on the couch. 

Then Bucky’s phone rings - an 8 bit version of ‘Star Spangled Man with a Plan’. 

“All I ask is one day off,” he moans while Sharon checks it. 

“It’s Sam.” 

Bucky motions for it, “That’s exactly what I meant.” 

He presses the screen to answer.

“Hey, old man.”

He rolls his eyes, “Yeah, okay, you get one of those a year. Consider it used.”

Sam laughs over the line, “It’s worth it.” 

Bucky hits the option for speakerphone while Sharon hits mute on the TV. 

“What did you call about, Wilson? I’m not in trouble again, am I?” 

Sam sighs, the digital filter of the phone adding a tinny quality to the sound. 

“I do actually have some business. I owe you for skipping the birthday stuff yesterday.”

Bucky immediately feels bad about the previous day, “No, you don’t. Don’t worry about it.” 

“No, no,” Sam speaks up, “I’m picking up doughnuts right now and swinging by, if that’s alright?” 

Sharon starts, “But we just -” 

Bucky waves a hand to stop her mid sentence. Doughnuts sound perfect. 

“Or I could wait it out?” Sam asks with an amused tone to his voice.

Bucky lets out a breath to keep calm.

“It’s fine. Sharon was just saying, um,” 

He struggles to come up with an excuse that doesn’t include the words ‘breakfast’ or ‘undressed’. 

Sharon takes the phone, “We only have plain black coffee. If you want something else, bring it with the donuts.” 

Sam agrees and they all say their goodbyes before hanging up. 

“Smooth backpedal there, Carter.” 

She gives him a pleased smile, “I am known for thinking on my feet. Thank you very much.” 

He kisses because he can and because he can’t seem to possibly think of one reason not to follow through with that instinct at every possible opportunity. 

“There is one problem though,” she whispers in a sotto voice. 

“Oh?” 

She looks to the coffee table and their discarded dishes, “How do we hide these?” 

Bucky had resisted getting a dishwasher because he was usually the only person using his plates and cups and he’s a grown man who can wash a dish he’s done with. 

Now, he sees the appeal of an appliance that does all the work for you. 

“Also, maybe we should get a little more dressed,” he motions to his shirtlessness and Sharon’s bare legs. 

She frowns.

“It’s just Sam, though. He’s seen us bleeding and much worse.” 

Bucky narrows his eyes at her.

“Are you saying that because you like me without a shirt or because you don’t wanna put on pants?” 

Sharon shrugs, “Little of column A, little of column B.” 

The movie marathon is still running, muted, on the TV. They surprisingly haven’t missed much of the actual movie due to commercial breaks. 

“Okay, planning this out here: you take the dishes to the sink and stack them as low as possible, I get a shirt on, and when Sam buzzes you put on some sort of pants while I get the door?” 

Sharon nods and gives him a thumbs up, “Got it.” 

They set the plan in motion and even get a few minutes of chilling and watching the movie before the buzzer dings. 

Bucky goes to the door and Sharon sneaks off to put something on. He presses the intercom instead of the buzz in button.

“Barnes residence.” 

Sam hits the intercom button, “Dude, it's me. Just buzz me in.”

Bucky hits the intercom again, “I’m sorry but who? You never said a name, sir.” 

He adds on the sir to be clear he’s messing with Sam. 

“It. Is. Sam. Wilson. With dounuts I’d rather not waste by throwing one by one at your window. Which I will do. If I must.” 

Bucky buzzes him in. 

A few minutes later, Sam knocks on the front door. 

Bucky opens it, a grin on his face, “Oh, That Sam Wilson! This all makes so much more sense now.” 

“Ha, ha,” Sam lets out a dry laugh, “now take your damn doughnuts.” 

He’s also carrying a drink carrier with three coffees so Sharon takes mercy on him and takes the box to the now clear coffee table. 

Bucky notices she’s put on her jeans from the day before but kept his shirt on, just folding up the sleeves to her elbows.

It sends a thrill through him and he makes a mental note on differentiating the rush of sharing clothes on a basic level from overbearing possessiveness with his therapist at the next appointment. 

He sits down on the couch, Sharon on his left and Sam in a chair next to the couch, and opens the box. 

There’s a dozen doughnuts in a 4 by 3 grid - the middle row has three doughnuts with icing writing on them: “Happy” “Birthday” “Lucky”. 

Bucky throws a look of annoyance at Sam, “Lucky?!” 

Sam sits back in the chair, “Oops. Must have gotten the dozen I got for Clint’s dog mixed up with yours. Tell me if they taste like Purina.” 

Bucky looks ready to throw one in his face so Sharon motions to the coffee.

“What’d you pick up?” 

Sam grins and grabs the carrier. He hands Sharon a marked hot cup - probably her usual soy latte with extra sweetener. 

He takes a cold cup with pale beige liquid - most likely a very heavily creamed coffee - and holds it out to Bucky. 

Bucky raises his eyebrows but takes the proffered cup.

“What is it?” 

Sam motions vaguely, “You’re still doing the flavors around the world trip, right?” 

Bucky nods and takes a tentative sip.

“Oh my god,” he exclaims before taking a bigger sip.

“Is this . . . supposed to taste like baklava?” 

Sam cackles and nods, “Yes! It’s the shop’s specialty flavor for the month. Did they actually nail it?” 

Bucky frowns but keeps taking longer and longer sips, “Yes and no. I just . . . can’t stop drinking it?” 

Sam claps and does a little dance in his seat, “Yes! I don’t even care that now I’m stuck with your sad little “medium roast with one cream and no sugar” I got as a backup.” 

Before anyone can grab a doughnut to eat, he gets up, “They didn’t give us napkins, I’ll grab some paper towels.

Bucky’s still drinking his baklava coffee and Sharon doesn’t realize their mistake until Sam’s already in the kitchen.

“Wait!” 

Sam’s betrayed voice rings out throughout the apartment, “You had pancakes?! With bananas?!” 

“To be fair,” Sharon shouts back, “neither of us explicitly said we didn’t.” 

He stalks back into the room, paper napkin stack in hand. 

“Tell me they were at least poor quality and I didn’t miss out.” 

Sharon tells him, “I made them,” at the same time Bucky asks, “would it actually make you feel better if I lied?” 

Sharon starts to punch him in the shoulder, realizes she’s on the Vibranium side and settles for taking the coffee cup for her own sip. 

Sam sits back down in the chair and grabs a doughnut from the box, “I try and do nice things. Got birthday donuts. Only kinda messed up the name on purpose.” 

Bucky picks up the aforementioned doughnut with the wrong name and holds out his hand for the sickly sweet coffee. 

“Yes and I thank you for the completeness of the half-assing effort it took.” 

Sam glares at Bucky and then looks at Sharon, “This is the guy you chose?” 

Bucky, mouth full and double fisting a doughnut and coffee, mutters, “I’m a catch.” 

Sharon wrinkles her nose at him, “Yeah, despite everything that is happening right now, I choose him.” 

Bucky grins at her, wide as he can. 

It’s a good morning - a good post-birthday birthday celebration with his friends. 

He wouldn’t change a damn thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We did it kids! I completed a wip in less than a calendar year. And with only one day to the show! Congrats to us all!

**Author's Note:**

> So hey, just another note that this is really more speculative than anything. I am also very invested in queer Bucky Barnes and Sharon Carter but: 1. them being queer is not exclusive of them getting together and 2. they aren't a couple until the episodes air and imply/explicitly call them one. 
> 
> If you read this and you're still not convinced, that's okay. 
> 
> If you read this and you're a little less worried, me too. 
> 
> Stay safe everybody.
> 
> Edit: edited the ages because I'm really Bad at Math. If they're still off, I'm calling it creative license.


End file.
